


Don't Fall in Love with Me

by JoeyTebbie



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Pet Names, Possessive Behavior, Riding, Rimming, Service Top, Spanking, Stockings, Underage Sex, Underwear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 21:01:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19048318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoeyTebbie/pseuds/JoeyTebbie
Summary: Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair so I can climb up and fuck you by the window.Peter and Deadpool met on the streets, and Deadpool followed Peter home like the shameless deviant that he was. Little did he know everything was going to change. Cue the Disney music, folks.





	1. Chapter 1

 

They met each other near Christmas for the very first time. Peter, donned in his suit, was standing on the rooftop of a 10-ish floor building, trying to survey the streets below, when he heard someone loudly yelled out, "Ay caramba!"

He startled, slipped and fell off the roof. 

Had he not have his web shooters with him to swing back up, he might have splattered onto the busy street below and caused every New Yorker passing by to mutter annoyance at the inconvenience. Fortunately, he remembered he could do that at about the sixth floor down and did exactly that. 

He decided to be cautious and stuck himself to the outer wall, peaking out to see where the voice had come from. What he saw was a man dressed in head-to-toe red, scanning frantically at where Peter had fallen.

It was Deadpool.

He looked intimidating. Not in a homicidal mercenary way, with all the weapons strapped on his person and all, but in a way that made people go _hmmm_. Aside from his usual red and black suit, Deadpool was also in a Santa outfit with fake, bushy, white beard, a pointy red hat with a white pom-pom at the end, and a big red bag (of what? Peter didn't dare assume.) 

"Shit! Shit balls!" Deadpool was yelling, still looking down, bag mindlessly dropped at his feet, clinking and clanking suspiciously. "Did I just kill Spider-Man? Did I just fucking- why did I even have to do that? Maybe I should just sew my fucking lips together _Silence of the Lambs_ style. Yeah, that'll teach me."

"Uh, please don't do that," Peter interjected nervously, flipping back up to crouch on the low wall of the roof. 

"Spidey!" Deadpool twirled around so fast the pom-pom on his Santa hat bumped against his forehead. "Thank Charlotte, you survived! I thought I'll have to live on without ever hearing your voice, that would make this very not meet-cute. It would be the opposite of meet-cute. Meet-dead? Anyway, I'm Meetpool. I mean Deadpool."

"Hi, Deadpool," Peter answered cautiously. "You knew about me?"

"Of course, I've seen the movies, duh."

Peter didn't know what that meant, so he asked about the obvious. "What's with the Santa get-up?"

"You mean this old thang?" Deadpool fluffed the hem of his red robe. "It's very festive, isn't it? You’d think people will want to offer me milk and cookies and sit on my lap, but in reality they shot at me with guns that go boom-boom. People are such atheists nowadays. It did give me a raging boner though, I’ve got this fantasy of punishing naughty boys and girls in it, but so far all the people I’ve met today looked like they’ve gone through plagues of Egypt. I guess it’s a blue ball Christmas for Santa this year."

Peter choked and couldn’t stop coughing. He knew his whole face was cherry red, because he could feel the heat radiating from his skin. He's hotter than a car's dashboard under the sun in Arizona. If someone cracked eggs on top of his head, he could serve people sunny side-ups. What he didn't expect, after totally embarrassed himself with his overflowing awkward teenage energy, was that all of a sudden Deadpool seemed to zoom in on him with full attention.

"Mmm mmm mmm," Deadpool rumbled, inching closer to Peter. "Mmm mmm mmm mmm mmm. Where are you going, itsy bitsy spider? What are you carrying under your suit, isty bitsy spider? I have no big eyes nor big ears, but I certainly am a wolf, from waist under."

Peter’s jaw dropped open under his mask and watched helplessly as Deadpool got well within arm's reach. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Deadpool rumbled, "We'll bang, okay?"

Peter could see the sunny smile he’s wearing through the mask.

"I meant we'll hang, eh? Sorry, English is not my first language, I'm Canadian."

"Your first language is French?" Peter asked weakly.

"Nah, it's Canadian English. That means my breath smells like maple syrup all the time. My name is Wade Wilson, what's yours?"

And that's how Peter met Wade.

 

 

 

It took a lot of time for Peter’s brain to digest things. That’s why he’s an impulsive person; he tended to do things first and panicked about those things after. If he gave himself time to think everything through, he’d never get stuff done, because he’s a talented over-thinker. So he literally ran away from his first meeting with Deadpool. He didn’t know what he’d blurt out under the pressure if he kept talking to him, and he wanted to unpack the encounter in the safe place that’s the form of his blanket nest on his bed.

Looking back at it, maybe he should have overthink that night, because as he landed on his windowsill, one foot already in the room, two strong arms circled him from behind suddenly and crushed him backwards onto a hard chest. He let out half a shriek before a leather-clad palm covered his mouth. Red leather. Deadpool followed him home. He felt so careless and stupid that he wanted to ram his head against the wall if he’s not totally frozen in fear. Deadpool’s hand was tight on his face. It’s so big he can probably snap Peter’s neck in half if he wanted to.

“Hey, shh, hey. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know this is too fast, but I can’t help myself. I have a problem with things I like. One time I discovered shamrock shakes and drank a dozen in a row. Thought my pee would turn green; so disappointed when it didn’t. When they tried to take it off the menu after St. Paddy’s Day, I threatened to blow the place up. They’ve kept it a regular item since. If you ever crave the flavor green, talk to me and I’ll hook you up. It’s in Ottawa though. Are you scared? Don’t be scared, I’ll never hurt you, as long as you listen to me.”

“Please don’t hurt me,” Peter pled. 

“You are not listening to me. I said I’m not gonna hurt you, so I’m not gonna hurt you. Would you relax? It’s like holding a subway pole.”

Peter’s body decidedly did not relax.

“A natural rebel, huh? Don’t take no orders from no men? That’s okay, I’m good at working poles.”

The hand that’s not covering his mouth traveled upward from his waist, massaging as it went. It seemed to like the slope under his chest, the fingers eagerly smoothing over the area. He could feel Deadpool groaning behind him. Hot breaths caressed his ear and he realized with a shock that the man had pulled his mask half way up to free his mouth and nose. “You have the nicest tits, baby boy,” the uncovered mouth said. “Let’s see if they fit in my hand.”

It’s painfully obvious that they did. Deadpool’s hand was huge, and it almost covered the entirety of Peter’s chest when spread wide. Peter started panting when the hand squeezed down mercilessly. His suit muted the pressure but not the warmth. It’s like being licked by lava, and the burn is full of unfamiliar pleasure. Deadpool hummed happily when he felt something stiff under his hand.

“Are your nipples hard, slut? Do you want Daddy to touch them? They’ll need to wait. Daddy wants to find out if other parts of your body is also hard.”

The hand landed on his crotch. Peter could feel the satisfied grin Deadpool was pressing into the side of his head. He really couldn’t be blamed; he’s at that age when a light breeze was enough stimulation to pop a tent in his jeans. How was his body going to resist relentless groping? And grope, the hand did. The clever thumb found his cockhead and rubbed until Peter felt wetness leaking under his suit. The other four fingers teased the base of his thigh before going south to collect his balls in the palm. Peter’s whole body felt heavy and weighted.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Deadpool murmured behind him. “You can lean on me, I won’t let us fall. Relax.”

Peter melted like butter on pancakes. Deadpool was so warm against him, every point of contact made him sweat like he’s in a sauna. His dick was fully hard and twitching under the hand. Peter’s near his peak when suddenly the hand covering his mouth moved to his neck and tugged at the back of his mask. 

“No,” Peter panicked, and both of the hands froze.

“No?” Deadpool asked in a forcefully even voice. “No?”

Peter gulped. “No-the mask. Don’t take it off.”

“Oh,” Deadpool relaxed. “No, baby boy, of course not. I’m just moving it away for a bit, yeah? Not gonna take if off. Come on, lean back, I just got you all loosened up.”

True to his words, Deadpool only tucked Peter’s mask up enough to reveal a patch of skin under his ear. He could feel puffs of hot breath ghosting on it when a hand moved to guide his head back on a strong shoulder. The other hand resumed rubbing, and soon, Peter was back to his sweating state, thoughts a jumble in his glazed brain.

“You like this?” Deadpool’s voice is hot honey in his ears. “You like being touched by a complete stranger? Dirty slut, just wants to get his dick played with, no matter who does it? Well, you seem like a good boy, and Santa’s always got treats for good boys.”

Peter couldn’t stop panting. He’s so close. He could hear the wet sounds of his precome caught in the friction, which made him pant even harder. He felt Deadpool nosing against his exposed skin and breathing in.

He’s _smelling_ him.

Peter came with that realization blooming in his head. He’s a trembling leaf in a storm, back arched to push his spurting dick into that big, encompassing hand. Deadpool was still smelling Peter greedily, and then he’s stretching out his tongue to taste Peter’s sweat. He groaned at the flavor and tightened his arms. Peter was somewhat grateful, as he would certainly fall to his death if he’s not supported right now.

“Are you wearing undies under there, baby boy?”

Before he could react to the question, a hand pressed down on Peter’s back, and he’s forced to lean forward and stick his butt back against Deadpool. He felt fingers tug down his pants to bare the band of his briefs. “Oh, nice,” Deadpool said. “Don’t move.”

There was a slink of a knife unsheathed. The band of his briefs was tugged from his waist and then quickly slashed on both sides. Deadpool yanked and then the fabric was jerked away in one go. 

He turned to see Deadpool raised his tore briefs to his nose and gave them a good, long sniff. The briefs that he just came in. That Deadpool just made him came in. His brain went offline.

Peter watched numbly as Deadpool folded the fabric into a tiny square with the upmost care and stuffed it in one of his many pouches, then grabbed his face and smacked a big kiss against his masked lips.

“This is so much fun, we should do it again soon,” he said cheerily. “But be careful and don’t fall in love with me!”

And with that, Deadpool was gone, leaving Peter alone with his sticky crotch, half hanging on the windowsill, mouth open in shock that he’s sure he would never recover enough to close.

 

 

 

“I met someone.” 

Ned looked up from his phone in surprise. “Like, a girl?”

“No, it’s a boy. A man. I mean, a guy. A bad guy?”

“Wait, I’m confused. So you are seeing a guy? Are you gay? Are you coming out?”

“No! I mean! I saw- I met a bad guy.”

“Oh!” Ned exclaimed. “Like a villain kind of bad guy? Who was it? Were you doing Avenger things again? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Peter sat up from his bed in exasperation. “I am telling you now! It just happened yesterday, and it wasn’t an Avenger thing, I was out by myself.”

“Oh, okay,” Ned nodded. “So who was it?”

“Deadpool,” Peter chewed on his lips before muttering. 

“What!?” Ned pushed his toes against the floor to slide the rolly chair he’s sitting on closer to Peter. “Dude, are you serious? He’s, like, super dangerous. Remember the news about how he killed a lot of people on Hudson Bridge? The area was shut down for days!”

“I know! I was scared out of my mind!”

“Where did you meet him?”

“Umm,” Peter scrunched his brows. “Umm, 52nd Ave? Close to that enchilada place? It was on a roof.”

“What’s he doing in Queens?”

“How should I know?”

“Well, what’s he like?”

Peter could feel his face heating up. He cleared his throat before opening his mouth.

“He’s… tall. Heavily built. I saw scars on his face.”

“Oh, he took off his mask?”

“No, like, he folded it half way up.” Ned nodded. Peter sucked in a breath before continuing.

“And- and he followed me home.”

“What!?” Ned exploded. “You mean he was here!?” Peter shushed him even though May wasn’t home yet.

“I didn’t know he was following me! He didn’t come in or anything, just stayed by the window.”

Ned wailed. “Dude, what does that mean? Did you just talk?” 

“I think,” Peter coughed. “I think, he-likes me?”

They stared at each other in silence before Ned yelled, “So you _are_ gay!”

“If anyone’s gay, it’s Deadpool,” Peter declared loudly. “And that is totally not the point right now. I met Deadpool. He followed me home. He knows where Spider-Man lives. Ned, this is serious. Should I tell May? Should I tell Mr. Stark? Do you think we’ll have to move? What if he’s watching us right now?”

Ned sobered up at his words and climbed on the bed to sit next to him. “Okay, calm down. I’m sorry, you’re right, this is serious. But sounds like he didn’t hurt you, right? You’re okay?”

Peter nodded.

“And he just said he liked you and ran off?”

Peter thought back on how Deadpool took his underwear. “Yeah, pretty much,” he croaked.

“We should google him,” Ned suggested. “We don’t really know the guy that well.”

They pulled Peter’s laptop between them and typed ‘Deadpool’ into the search box. Several clips of the familiar red suit in action turned up. They watched some grainy ones taken by cellphones and some featured news segments. “Seems like he’s only killing bad guys?” Ned said after they watched a report on how Deadpool burned down an abusive orphanage. “Are we sure he’s bad?”

Peter wasn’t sure. What he heard were rumors, stories about how the man was crazier than a cuckoo clock and killed without blinking an eye. From the first-hand experience Peter gained, the guy was definitely unconventional, if the things he spewed out a mile a minute last night were any indication.

Last night.

“He gave me his name,” Peter perked up. He typed ‘Wade Wilson’ into the search box, and the first result reads ‘Happiness is just a phone call away’. They looked at each other before clicking through to an old 90’s style CSS webpage with rainbow-colored Comic Sans text. It read:

_Would you like to buy hand pistols, assault rifles or submachine guns?_  
_Do you like machetes, bayonets or throwing stars?_  
_Are you salivating at the thoughts of grenades and yellow dynamites?_  
_Then help a guy out and tell me what you’ve found so far, because I need those things too and my current weapon guy is shit._  
_In the meantime, if you need bosses, ex-spouses, business competitors, or just plain old enemies to stop living, also call in. People who supply high-quality weapons get 20% off._

Under the text, there were four oval buttons labeled ‘Boss’, ‘Ex-spouse’, ‘Business Competitor’, and ‘Enemy’ respectively that did absolutely nothing when Peter clicked on them. In the middle of the page, there’s a number with New York’s area code, and Peter spotted a tiny footnote that read ‘Weapons supplied will be confiscated after job’ on the very bottom.

“Dude,” Ned said with emotions. Peter felt the same way.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Police siren went off and Peter glanced at the direction of the blue and red light. It’s from the neighborhood where he met Deadpool. He fidgeted before swinging towards it.

He and Ned had agreed that he should tell Mr. Stark about Deadpool if he showed up at his house again. Fortunately that hadn’t happened all week, and Peter’s ready to chuck the whole thing to the back of his head. 

Well, maybe he’s revisited the memory and jerked off to it once or twice, but no one had to know. The things Deadpool said made him tingle inside and out, and don’t get him started on the man himself. Peter didn’t know why he’s Suddenly Gay, but he couldn’t deny he’d been daydreaming about those huge hands. Or maybe that made him bisexual? He’d need to talk to Ned about this, it’s all too confusing.

He landed on a four story building nearby and watched as the police questioned bystanders. There’s blood and bullet shells littered on the ground, so it seemed whatever happened already ended. Peter’s trying to eavesdrop on the conversations when he heard a groan coming from the alley behind him. He moved to observe the dark space: there’s a dumpster and some trash bags. As he watched, the trash bags moved and groaned again. 

He slinked down slowly on a web. When he’s close enough, he nudged the trash bags with the tip of his foot, and a gloved hand shot out to grab him. He let out a startled yelp before recognizing the glove.

“Deadpool?” Peter asked, and the trash bags let out another pitiful groan.

Removing the trash bags revealed Deadpool in a battered condition. He’s bleeding out in several places and missing a foot. A whole foot. It’s cut off and spraying blood like a sprinkler in a garden. Peter felt sick.

“Spidey?” Deadpool raised a wobbling hand. “Angel, is that you?”

“It’s me, Deadpool.”

Deadpool whined. “Would you call me by my name? Please, it’s my last wish on this miserable earth.”

“Okay, Wade,” Peter knelt down beside him in alarm and held his hand when he kept waving it piteously. “What do you mean, last wish? You are going to be fine, right? I thought you can’t die.”

“No, I’m definitely dying. I feel like dying. Spidey, I feel cold.”

As Peter watched, Wade turned his head to cough, and blood seeped through his mask. Peter felt like being kicked in the gut.

“What’s happening? Is there someone I should call?”

“Come closer,” Wade said faintly and tugged on his hand. Peter leaned down to look at the white lenses of his mask. “Please, will you help me with one last thing?” he coughed out more blood. “Can you give me another one of your tiny panties? I came so much in the ones I took that it hardly smelled like you anymore.”

Peter’s at a loss for words. The hand in his tightened. 

“You know what? Just bury me with…them…”

Peter startled as Wade’s hand released its hold, his head dropping to the side. “Deadpool?” he asked with rising panic. “Wade? Oh God.”

He was just considering calling an ambulance when a chime of metal dropping to the ground broke the silence. He looked down and watched in sick fascination as Wade’s body rejected the bullets and pushed them out, dropping them to the ground. Wade groaned.

“Stupid immortal body ruining all my fun.”

“You jerk!” Peter yelled and threw the bullet at his forehead. “Jerk! I thought you- I thought you really-”

“Aww, ow, aww, Spidey, were you worried about me?” Wade cooed and rubbed the place the bullet hit. “That’s so sweet. You are so sweet. Was that too much? I do feel terrible, really I do. You wanna kiss my boo-boos for me?”

“Shut up!”

“Aww, you’re even cuter when you’re pissed,” Wade put his hands together in dreamy adoration. “Tell you what, let me make it up to you. You hungry? There’s a Mexican place just down the road, and I’ll buy the entire menu. How’s that sound?”

“Juanita’s?” Peter sniffed.

“Hey! You know that place?”

“Including the dessert menu?”

“They have a dessert menu?” Wade squeaked excitedly. “Of course, whatever you want. Oh, but you’ll have to help me find my foot first. Reattaching limbs save so much time than having to grow them back on their own.”

After Wade’s whole again, (“I’m gonna puke,” said Peter. Wade shrugged and stuck his foot on with a wet splat. “As long as it’s not on my severed limb, do as you must.”) they walked the short distance to the restaurant and ordered everything with a roll of twenties from another one of Wade’s pouches. (“Their burritos are to die for.” Peter nodded and said, “Did you know they can make them enchilada style?” Wade’s mouth dropped open. “How are you so full of surprises!?”)

“Somebody’s been stealing my shit,” said Wade with his mouth full of beans and jalapeño poppers. He’s been dissecting the poppers, carving the cream cheese out and licking them off the plastic spoon before stuffing three empty peppers in his mouth in one go. “I’d be ordering something, and they’d be stolen or robbed in transit. It’s driving me nuts. Man’s got to have proper tools to do proper work, you know? Can’t be expected to do a good job with a box cutter.”

“And you think it’s the guys that cut your foot off?”

“Yeah, it’s this little underground organization that’s been on my back since I took two kilos of their coke. Have you noticed the good American people only adopt the metric system when dealing drugs? They sure got their priorities straight.”

Peter paused the taco he’s about to shove into his mouth. “How much is that?”

“I dunno, $60,000, maybe?” 

Peter gasped. “Wade! That’s a lot!”

“I tried to venmo them back! It’s not my fault they don’t have an account.”

There’s a beat before they both roared with laughter. The waiter glared at them and pointedly turned the volume of the tv up.

“You’re ridiculous,” Peter said when his stomach stopped cramping from laughing too hard.

“And you have a beautiful laugh.”

“Thanks. You too.”

“Don’t fall in love with me!” Wade yelled and threw a churro at Peter. On the tv, telenovela was playing, and somebody just slapped somebody. The waiter nodded approvingly. No one paid them any attention when Wade licked the sugar left by the churro off of Peter’s face.

 

 

 

To be honest, Peter was kind of expecting it, so he didn’t startle as much when he turned around to close the window and found Wade dropping down and swiftly climbing into his room.

“Hey, baby boy. You come here often?” Wade leered as he folded Peter into his arms, nose diving straight to the base of his neck. Peter shivered at the sensation of Wade breathing him in. “God, you smell so addicting. How long have you been out? One hour? Two? You been sweating under this tight thing?”

Wade knelt down to peel his suit pants down to his mid-thigh and moaned at the sight of Peter’s briefs.

“I thought dark navy was your color, baby, but this dove grey on your skin is…” he gathered his fingers against his lips and blew a chef’s kiss. Peter thought he couldn’t be redder until Wade dived down and buried his whole face in Peter’s crotch.

“Hnnng,” Peter said. Every inch of skin they touched felt like it’s being branded by hot iron. The sound of Wade taking in air against his dick was loud as thunder. Wade folded his mask half way up again to mouth at Peter’s balls through his briefs, and all Peter could hear is white noise. He grabbed on to Wade’s shoulders for balance and watched him looked up with a smirk. How did people smirk with balls in their mouth? Peter didn’t know, but he’s 80% impressed, 20% annoyed, and 130% turned on. The lower half of his briefs had turned into dark grey, wetted by Wade’s saliva, and another spot was growing where his slit was pumping out precome like it’s a contest. Peter’s sure Wade had noticed too because the mouth was moving upwards like it’s playing Connect Four on his dick. When the mouth sucked in the head of his cock and started slurping, Peter cursed and slapped his hand on his desk for balance. The movement accidentally knocked the water bottle on the desk down to the floor, making a bang.

“Hon?” May’s voice floated in and Peter froze. “You okay in there?”

“Yeah,” Peter answered loudly. “It’s just- a bug.”

He’s just starting to relax when he realized Wade had stopped what he’s doing and standing to his full height. Peter’s forced to look up as strong arms held him close like steel bands. “’Hon’?” Wade whispered into the tiny space between his mouth and Peter’s mask. The big hands on his waist tightened to the point where it’s almost bruising. “Who’s that, baby? She doesn’t sound old enough to be your mom. Was that your girlfriend? Cute thing like you must have girls throwing themselves at you left and right, yeah?”

“It’s my aunt,” Peter panted before the hands squeezed out all the air in him. “She takes care of me.”

The emotionless white lenses stared down at him before the arms loosened and one giant hand moved to smooth down his back.

“You live with your aunt? Cool, cool, cool.” 

“She’s really nice. You’ll like her. If you come in the front door, she’ll feed you lasagna.”

“Jeez, I feel like a grade-A cunt right now,” Wade muttered. “Let’s get back to making you feel good.”

With quick actions, Wade unfastened his utility belt and zipped down his pants. “Eyes up,” he said and nosed at Peter’s chin until he’s looking up at the ceiling. “My beauty can only be appreciated from afar.”

Peter wanted to protest that he’s already seen Wade’s skin condition and was not bothered by it, but his ability to speak evaporated when something spongy nudged his dick. He had to bite his lips together when the realization dawned on him: Wade was rubbing his naked cock against his, which was still wrapped in wet, clingy cotton. By the feeling of it, Wade was also leaking a copious amount, and his strong hips were forcefully rubbing the wetness into him, making a huge mess on his no doubt ruined briefs. Sharp teeth bit into his neck before smoothing it away with sucking kisses that were soon replaced by bites again, over and over. 

“Tell me when you’re gonna come, okay?” Wade panted into his neck between kisses. Peter couldn’t answer. If he opened his mouth, everyone in the 10 mile radius would hear him. He whimpered in his throat and felt Wade grinned against his neck.

“What’s wrong, baby boy? Cat’s got your tongue? You’re afraid your aunt will come in and sees us? Finds out her nephew’s a slut that let big bad wolves lick his dick wet? I hardly have to use my mouth on you, you’re already dripping for me.”

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. “Wade,” he choked out.

“Hold on, baby, hold on.”

His dick was pulled out, guided into a tight space and jerked with desperation. He’s- he’s-

He’s coming in Wade’s pants.

“Oh, yeah,” Wade moaned in his ear. “Look what you’ve done. You’re coming all over my balls.”

Wade jerked him until the last drop was safely deposited in his pants. He cleaned Peter up with his fingers and stuck them in his mouth for a taste. When he’s finally satisfied, he tucked them both back up and tugged his mask into place. 

“I feel like I should ask about your age since we just found you’re probably still a minor,” Wade said, “But as you must know by now, I’m a giant pervert, and I don’t particularly care. So unless one day you decide you don’t want to do this anymore, we can be good pals that fuck. But no lovey-dovey shit because that’s tricky business. How’s that?”

“Can I see your face?” Peter blurted. He imagined Wade would refuse, but surprisingly, he took it off without much hang up. He’s got clear, hazel eyes and smiling an easy smile. 

“You wanna see my face? Know my real name?” Peter asked.

“Only when you want me to.”

Peter smiled back underneath his mask. “Thanks, Wade, you’re a good guy.”

 

 

 

There’s a show called Phineas and Ferb that Peter used to watch when he’s a kid. Phineas and Ferb were kid geniuses that do amazing things, such as building a rollercoaster in their backyard, designing a portal to Mars, and fixing up a time machine in a museum exhibit and using it to travel back in time, all at the age of 10. People would ask them, ‘Aren’t you a little too young to do that?’ And they would answer, ‘Yes. Yes, we are.’ and do it anyway. In the show, they did it because it’s fun. In real life, Peter was almost 17, got straight A in school, joined the Academic Decathlon team, and fought crime as Spider-Man, but he didn’t do them for fun; he did them to prove himself. He wanted to prove himself to be just as smart and just as diligent as other kids in school, if not more so, even though he came from a single adoptive parent family. He told himself constantly that if he worked harder and be stronger, he’d earn the right to exist.

“But aren’t you a little too young to be a superhero though?” one of the bank robbers webbed up and hanging upside down grumbled. Peter put his hands on his waists.

“You can’t hear my age through my mask.” 

“I totally can and you sound young. Don’t they have an age limit? Tony Stark is 50.”

“Over 50,” the other robber called.

“And Captain America, he’s like over 100 years old.”

“Well, he looks 30-ish, does that count?”

“Does yo mama count 300 pounds on the scale when she counted 150 when she’s 20 years old? Of course it counts!”

“Can you guys zip it,” Peter snapped. “How are you not getting head rushes right now?”

“Oh, I’m definitely getting it,” red-faced, the second robber squeezed out, even though Peter clearly meant it as a rhetorical question.

“Yep,” the first robber concurred. “Blood’s gonna run out from my nose any second now. Going from PG-13 to R-rated real soon. You old enough to buy a ticket to that?”

Peter gave up and webbed his mouth shut. He pointed at the other robber warningly. “Not another word, or you’re getting the same treatment. Got it?”

The robber nodded and screamed. 

“What the-”

“Are you guys wearing too much blush or just happy to see me?”

Peter whipped around to see Deadpool skipping in like an innocent fourth-grader on a field trip. He ignored the piles of money rolling like tumble weed at their feet and stopped at where the criminals were bound, rubbing his hands together like he’s about to start on a fancy feast. He gave Peter a jaunty wave.

“Hey sunshine! Don’t mind me, I’m just here to loot the bodies.”

He pulled out a red square, and Peter watched him shook it out to be the same red bag he carried the first time they met. “No Santa suit today?” he grinned.

“A star never wears the same outfit twice,” Deadpool said snootily while picking up the weapons scattered around and throwing them in the bag. “Accessories are fine because most of them are staple pieces, like this one.”

“And you are stealing people’s guns now?”

“This is not stealing!” Deadpool protested indignantly. “This is me getting gifts. Hi! Is this yours? Can I have it please?” The robbers nodded weakly. Deadpool gestured as if that proved his point, and then stepped closer to the cocooned duo and stage-whispered, “You got ammos on you, right?”

“Why are you taking people’s weapons? I thought you got yours back?” Peter persisted as he watched Deadpool cut open a small slit on their bindings and proceeded to stick his arm in and rummage around giddily like it’s a lollipop jar. He paused at Peter’s question and sighed melodramatically.

“No, turns out I got the wrong guys. I didn’t think it’d come to this. What’s the point in moving base to the US-of-A if I can’t shop rifles at Walmart as seen on TV? But it’s the sad truth. All the dealers stop doing business with me since I’m not paying for lost shipments. What’s even weirder is I think someone’s actually stealing from my pockets. The tool bag I packed the day before for my last job? Gone like DMV workers when that clock struck four on the dot. Had to go in empty handed and come out amputated. Goddamnit!” he shouted with sudden fury, and the robber that didn’t have webbing on his face let out a scream, scared of having a now angry killer’s hand down his pants. “Who the fuck is taking my shit? It’s so annoying! Ugh! If I had hair, I would have pulled myself a medieval monk hairstyle by now.”

“What if you mark these,” Peter pointed at the red bag in Deadpool’s hand. “And if they are taken, you can track them down and see who’s behind this.”

Deadpool stared at Peter. Peter stared back. The robber piped up, “Yo, that’s really smart!” and Deadpool turned and snarled, “Fuck off, he’s mine.”

He coughed nervously and turned back to Peter after an awkward silence had passed. “Yes, that is correct. Very smart. Cleverest plan, couldn’t’ve thought of it myself in a million years. Would you marry me. Nope! Sorry, my speech impediment is acting up. I meant, would you be so kind as to help me carry out this wonderful plan?”

 

 

 

“Do you just wait for me by the window now?” Deadpool smirked at Peter as he climbed in. “Want me to serenade you to let your hair down so I can climb up here and have my way with you?”

“You climbed here fine without.”

“What about I make you sing?” Deadpool grabbed and turned him towards the window. “Yeah? You have the prettiest voice. I bet I can make you sing a pretty song.”

A huge hand slapped down on Peter’s butt. His surprised yelp was drowned out by the loud groan Deadpool emitted. 

“By Jove, they jiggle. How do you walk with these? They must clap with every step you take.” 

“Deadpool,” Peter panted. Deadpool pinched the same place he just slapped and demanded, “What did I tell you to call me?”

“Ah! W-wade.”

“That’s right, baby boy. That’s the only lyrics you need to remember tonight, easier than the Happy Birthday song. Shall we start?”

Deadpool- Wade- peeled his pants down just enough to leave his butt on full display in the chilly night air. He could feel the uneven texture of Wade’s chin when he smooshed it against his bare bottom. He didn’t get a chance to process the feeling before Wade took a long whiff and moaned like a man who finally found drinking water after wandering in the desert without any for 30 years. “I’m in paradise. I’ve finally died and gone to heaven.” he said worshipfully. 

Licking a long stripe from Peter’s perineum upwards, Wade locked his hands tight on Peter’s waist when he instinctively tried to twist away from the sudden contact. He stretched his tongue out but soon found Peter’s butt cheeks were effectively concealing his entrance. He switched to holding Peter in place with one hand around his stomach while using the other to spread the cheeks apart. Successfully located Peter’s hole, he hummed contently and dived in. 

Peter was new to this sensation. In fact, he’s new to all the sensations Wade decided to introduce him to, and they had all been pleasantly and excitingly pleasurable, but this one unsettled him the most. It felt neither good nor bad, and he didn’t know what to think of it. It felt like there’s a fish against his asshole. A living, jumping, slimy fish, and that’s not a place for fish to be.

“Wade,” Peter said in a small voice, but Wade heard nonetheless. He immediately put space between them.

“What’s wrong, baby? Doing okay? You want me to stop?”

“I- It feels weird.”

“First time? Nobody’s done this before?”

Peter shook his head.

“Not even playing with it yourself?”

Peter shook his head again. Wade stood up from his kneeling position and gathered Peter in his arms.

“But not bad? Just weird?” 

After Peter gave him a single nod, Wade suggested, “What if we do it another way? I think you’ll feel better if you can see what I’m doing.”

He guided Peter to lie down on his bed and carefully but insistently folded him in half. Peter’s knees were touching his shoulders, and his hole was right under their eyes. He blushed furiously under his mask even though he knew Wade had seen all of it just a minute ago. Still, he felt exposed and vulnerable. He fisted his hands in both sides of the pillow under his head. “Can you take off your mask?” He said when Wade made to lower his face once more.

Wade did as Peter's asked with one swift flick. He seemed to remember something and leaned down to show Peter his tongue. It was covered in spots of maroon.

“See this? My tongue is scarred like the rest of my meat suit, so it’ll feel bumpy against your skin. Focus on that and see how you feel.”

When the first swipe happened, Peter couldn’t stop his body from seizing up. Then the second came, then the third. He had a clear view of that tongue working, and it did feel bumpy, when he followed Wade’s instruction and focused. It felt like being licked by a cat. In this new position, Peter was allowed to watch his fill of Wade, unmasked, furrowing his brow as he worked his tongue. He had high cheekbones, a straight nose, and beautiful, beautiful hazel eyes that Peter could get lost in for days. All of his skin was marred with scars shaped like spider webs. Peter wanted to touch them. He stretched out a hand and noticed he still got his gloves on, and stripped it off before laying his hand on Wade’s head, feeling the warm skin under his fingertips.

Wade looked up, eyed his naked forearm, and turned Peter into a puddle with his burning gaze. With Peter’s body relaxed all of a sudden, the tongue curled up and poked inside. Peter let out a sound he’s never made in his life when the tongue wiggled in him. “Oh,” Wade said with shocked realization. “You like it when I’m _in you_. Fuck, that’s so hot.”

Wade quickly adjusted the erection in his pants before diving back in. He wasted no time before snaking his tongue through the ring of muscle, mouth wide and saliva dripping. Peter was likewise getting hard as he watched the tongue buried into his ass right in front of him. “Wade,” he squirmed.

“Yeah? You like that? Open up so Daddy can get deeper.”

He heard a click of plastic, and then there’s something wet worming its way in, right along the tongue. He opened his eyes that had closed on their own accord and saw it’s Wade’s finger. His hand tightened around the side of Wade’s head.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Peter heaved as the finger inched in steadily to the second knuckle. The tiny digits were pushing out all the oxygen in his lungs. He’s scared, but Wade’s right, he did like it better when he’s inside him, touching him where sparkles of thrill zapped all the way to his brain. He didn’t know he can feel things with his insides, but he’s feeling the bumps on that determined tongue _in him_. And then he felt- and then he felt-

He came when the finger smoothed over a spot in his body.

Time stopped and Peter was in space. He’s floating in zero gravity, not a care in his head. He felt free. When he slowly came down, Wade had lowered his legs for him and was jerking himself viciously with a palmful of Peter’s come. It’s an out of body experience to watch Wade spurted on him, the white overwhelmingly contrasted with the blue and red of his suit.

“Okay?” Wade panted. “Baby?”

“Mmm,” Peter hummed. He’s struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Good?”

“Mmm.”

“How are you so cute?” Wade exhaled. He leaned down to press delicate kisses all over Peter’s masked face. “Look at how happy you are. I should leave the lube so you can play with yourself. You wanna nap? I’ll clean everything up.”

Peter’s consciousness shut down before the hum in his throat turned audible. He sank into peaceful darkness with Wade’s calming heartbeats in his ears.


	3. Chapter 3

 

“-ter. Peter!”

Peter startled back to himself. He dropped the hand supporting his chin and peered at Ned guiltily; he hadn’t heard a word he said. Maybe if he made some kind of noise, Ned wouldn’t notice. 

“Yeet,” Peter said. Ned frowned like he couldn’t believe he’s friends with an idiot. 

“What’s gotten into you, dude? You’ve been zoning out a lot lately.” Ned gasped and looked around the classroom to make sure nobody’s close enough to hear him before whispering, “Is it because you’re gay?”

Peter’s jaw dropped. “What!?” 

“You know, since you turned out to be gay, you must have a lot to worry about, such as, should you start wearing moisturizer? Or is Armie Hammer an adequate celebrity crush even though he breaks hearts? Ooh! Ooh! _Or_ ,” Ned gestured excitedly. “the big one: when are you going to come out to May?”

“You seriously need to stop so I can think,” Peter’s voice went so high and wispy that dolphins in Hawaii might have heard him. “Why are we on this topic again? Why are you so excited about this?”

“I dunno, it’s like everyone has a gay friend now, and I finally got one too.”

“You do realize you’re talking about gay people as if they are AirPods,” Peter took a deep breath. “Listen. I don’t know if I’m gay. I don’t know if I’m anything. I haven’t figured all this out yet. It takes time for me to process things.”

He plonked his head down on the desk and accidentally knocked his bag to the floor. The bottle of lube Wade left on his bedside table rolled out and stopped at their feet, and they both looked down at it. Under the deafening sound of blood rushing in his head, Peter vaguely remembered that he had put it in his bag that morning because he didn’t want May to accidentally discover it. He could feel Ned switching from looking at the bottle to looking at him, and then looking down at the bottle again.

“Are you-”

“Don’t.”

“Is Deadpool-”

“Please, Ned,” Peter begged. “Please. Shut up.”

Ned watched him picked the lube up like it’s burning hot coal and stuff it back in his bag, and said, “Are you using protection?”

“ _Ned_ ,” Peter groaned and put his face in his hands.

“No, this is important,” Ned said sternly. Peter moved his hands so he can peek at him from the top of his fingers. His friend looked uncharacteristically serious. “If I’ve ever learned anything in Sex-Ed, it’s you need to use protection whether you are gay, straight, or anything in between. It doesn’t matter. You need to be safe.”

Peter lowered his hands and gave Ned a weak smile. “Thanks, man. You’re a real friend.”

“Of course. So when are you going to tell May? Can I be there when you tell her? I want to see her face.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

 

 

 

Peter had taken a shower long enough that when he stepped out of the bathroom, his fingers were as wrinkled as prunes. He wrapped himself in a fluffy bath towel and wobbled back into his bedroom, locking the door even though May wasn’t home. He didn’t want there to be any chance of her walking in on what he’s about to do.

He took several deep breaths before taking the bottle of lube out of his bag. It’s an inconspicuous, matte-black bottle, not unlike a deodorant spray, if you overlook the word ‘ANALyze’ on the front. He carefully pressed out one pump on to his fingers. It’s translucent and smelled like nothing, which reminded him of aloe vera gel for sunburns. 

Several more deep breaths were taken before Peter gathered enough courage to tap his fingers against his hole. He’s warm from the shower, and the coolness of the lube was a mild discomfort. He could push in to the first knuckle of his forefinger after a few tries, and the wall of his insides felt smooth and slippery, the texture bringing goosebumps to his arms. He sank down on the bed and hid his nose in the fluffy towel. Lying almost horizontally, he tried again to push deeper into his body, but that part of his anatomy seemed to have a mind of its own that was spelling out N-O-P-E in giant neon letters. 

What did Wade do that felt good, that made him forget to worry, forget to care? Should he get himself hard first? That should probably happen. He gave his dick a few halfhearted pulls, and it reacted, just as he suspected, not much. He’s getting cold. He wasn’t cold when Wade does it, when Wade called him ‘baby’ in that voice.

He pulled the duvet over his head, grabbed his phone, punched in the numbers, and listened to it rang for a century. Eventually, someone picked up.

"Thank you for calling Sister Margret’s School for Wayward Girls,” a lazy voice recited flatly. “Press one for murder, two for hooker, three if you can’t decide which one of those options sounds more interesting, and I’ll draw one out of the hat for you."

Peter wasn’t expecting a stranger, and apparently his surprised silence lasted too long for the voice’s liking, because it groused, “Hurry up and press a button, dummy, I ain’t got all day. My head’s cold without the hat.” 

“Umm,” Peter floundered. “Uh, is there a Wade? Wade Wilson?”

“He fits the description of both one and two, but you’ll need to give me more than pressing some buttons to go through to him. Who’s asking?”

“Oh! Umm, we’re friends?”

“You sound unsure,” The voice replied distractedly. “Ask yourself this: did he remember your birthday last time? If the only thing he did was leave a cake emoji on your Facebook wall, maybe you’re not there yet.” 

“Why do all the people on Earth want to make my life a misery?” Peter mumbled irately. “Look, he doesn’t know my name. Tell him... tell him it’s the guy who lives with his aunt.” 

“The guy that lives with his aunt.” 

“Yes.” 

“That he doesn’t know the name of.” 

“Yes.” 

“Alright, hold for transfer please,” the voice said brightly, and then Peter heard a click and the flat dial tone. He’d been hung up.

“Unbelievable,” he fumed and redialed the number. The same voice picked up again.

“Ye-llow.”

“Look, _sir_ ,” Peter said sharply. “Wade knows me. We know each other. Is he there or is he not? I’ll just keep calling and calling if you hang up on me again.”

“Ugh, you’re going to distract me from _Keeping Up with the Kardashians_ , and this is already the rerun,” the voice complained. “Fine. Hold for real this time.”

He heard rustles, followed by people talking, laughing, shouting, glasses clinking and noises very similar to someone playing pool. What kind of schools have pool tables? 

Just as he’s wondering why he’s never played pool before, the phone was picked up again, and the familiar voice of Wade sang in his ear. 

“ _Hello? Is it me you’re looking for?_ ”

Peter laughed. “Wade.”

“Oh! Sweetums! What a pleasant surprise! How did you get this number?”

“I googled your name.”

Wade tsked. “Little stalker, aren’t ya? It’s okay, I like the attention. Hey, you wanna switch to my number? This is a landline that I’m sure is bugged at all times. You can block yours when you call.”

Peter dialed the number. When Wade picked up, it’s free of all the rattle from before. “What’s cookin’, good-lookin’?” Wade answered cheerfully on the first ring. “You don’t know how happy I am to hear your voice. I was so bored I almost twisted my head off to play hoops with it, but then some shitface brought in Burger King tacos. You heard it right, baby boy; tacos from Burger King, the very proof that God has forsaken the human race. I was bored, but then I was bored and sad and my hand hurt because I punched that shitface in the throat. I need some lovin’ from my favorite little spider, but don’t actually fall in love with me. How are you? How are things? What color panties are you wearing?”

“I’m not wearing any,” Peter grinned. 

Wade gasped loudly. “You’re going commando today!? Why am I not invited?”

“What are you talking about? It’s not a house party.”

“I would say it’s as life-changing as the Met Gala, but nobody other than me should get the invitation.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Peter laughed. He burrowed deeper into his comfortable nest. “Hey, remember you left the, the thing, at my place?”

“What, my soul? I’ll pick it up next time I come by.”

“No! You know, the- thing.”

Wade paused. When he spoke, his voice dropped an octave. 

“Is there a particular reason why you are not wearing your cute little briefs? Are you wearing anything at all?”

“No,” Peter breathed. 

“Has my baby been playing with himself? God, just the mental image of that is enough for my arteries to pop.”

“I- I tried,” Peter gulped. He turned to curl up on his side, cradling the phone in his hand. “I tried, but it’s just, it’s not the same without you.”

Wade made a choking noise. “You want me to talk you through it? It might help get things going.”

Peter thought about it. “No,” he decided. “I want you here when I do it. I want you with me.”

There was a metallic _thunk_ , a splat, and a low groan. 

“Wade?”

“Yeah, nothing, just had to get out of my head,” Wade forced out in a tight voice. “You okay between you down there? Didn’t injure any delicate parts?”

“I think I’m okay. Just sticky.”

“That’s good to hear,” Wade said, tone turned cheery once again. “Hey, wanna get out of that sticky business and join me on a night of fun? A buddy of mine came through and found some guns I may be able to use. Wanna go check them out with me?”

 

 

 

“Pooly! You brought a friend!”

“Aren’t you proud of me for socializing? We don’t meet enough new people. I think it’s because last time five were immediacy killed in the second scene and I haven’t recovered from that trauma,” Wade mimed wiping a teardrop off his eye. “Domino, meet Bubble Butt on Legs; Spider-Man, meet my best gal Dom-Dom.”

Peter nodded as the beautiful woman named Domino gave him a two-finger wave. She had dark mocha skin, a voluptuous hourglass figure wrapped in sexy black leather, and a warm and charming smile. She was already there when they stepped into the dingy room Wade texted him the address of. There were beer bottles everywhere and a whiteboard full of stick man drawings. Domino looked at home. It’s very clear she and Wade knew each other rather well. 

“A friend of Pooly’s is a friend of mine,” Domino said easily. “Now, who wants to see their presents?”

“Ooh! Me, me, me, me, me!” Wade squeaked and raised his hand in the air, jumping up and down. 

While Domino walked away to retrieve the ‘presents’, Wade stepped closer to Peter and slumped an arm over his shoulder. “You doing good, Spidey? You’re being very quiet. Want me to blow you real quick?”

Peter pinched him on his side. Wade made hurt noises but didn’t shy away, and Peter wanted to pinch him harder for it. Instead, he said, “I want a kiss,” and watched as Wade stopped to scrutinize him. 

He didn’t know what brought this on, but the unsuccessful self-exploration plus meeting clearly one of Wade’s close friends had made his gut churn. People said Deadpool was dangerous and bad news, and maybe he was, but Peter knew, besides more than a little eccentric, he’s also kind and respectful with or without the mask, and mature, and sweet, and got Peter’s blood pumping. Peter liked that about him. He liked how when his head was full of thoughts bouncing every which way like a pinball machine, Wade could shut it down instantly with some heavy petting. 

And right now he wanted a kiss to shut the thoughts down. 

Peter watched Wade unfroze to slowly lower his head closer to him. He felt the lingering kiss that’s pressed high on his cheekbone and whined when Wade pulled away. 

“What?” Wade immediately tightened the one-arm hug. “What’s wrong, baby boy? Stop making that noise, you’re breaking my heart.”

“Mask,” Peter muttered. 

“My mask? You want me to take it off?” Peter nodded. Wade folded his mask up half way and pressed the same lingering kiss on his cheekbone, and another one in the hollow of his cheek, then another on the corner of his lips. Peter wanted to rip his own mask off to feel them on his skin. When Wade pulled back this time, he laughed and rubbed Peter’s pouting lips with the pad of his fingers. 

“You can appreciate the full of my reversed Ted Bundy mug later, yeah? It’s rude when I do it in other people’s presence; for them, it’s an endurance test of how long they can last before throwing up.”

“No, not you, I mean-“

“Here you go!” Domino said, dumping the duffle on the table. Peter flinched and ducked away from under Wade’s arm. “They’re secondhand, but work good as new.”

Wade clapped in excitement. He unzipped the duffle and pulled out machine guns bigger than Peter’s two arms combined. Wade moaned in ecstasy. “You know how Homer Simpson makes that dreamy and drooling face whenever he fantasizes about donuts? My face is that times a hundred right now.”

He flipped the weapons this way and that before something caught his attention. “No,” he mumbled disbelievingly, and delved into the bag to examine every item. Peter and Domino watched him in confusion. “What is it?” Domino asked.

Wade raised the machine gun and turned it the other way around. On the butt of it, there’s a yellow smiley sticker. “I marked these, like Spidey suggested,” Wade said. “It’s on every gun in the bag. I stole them-I mean I was gifted them-a week ago, and they were stolen from me! Domino, where did you get these?”

Domino shrugged. “The internet.”

“Sounds very legitimate and very trustworthy. Send me the link. If it’s kinky.com, don’t send me the link. I have it bookmarked already.”

“You watch kinky porn?” Domino asked amusedly. “What’s your favorite part?”

“Where the women talk about how they enjoyed it when they are out of the bondage, of course. It warms my heart. Now!” Wade reached into the back of his pants. “Still gotta pay you for the trouble. How much do I owe you?”

“Are you going to pay me with ass money?” Domino drawled with her arms crossed.

“Yep.”

“Nobody wants your ass money.”

“What about gold? Do you accept gold?”

“Is it ass gold?”

“Duh. It’s gonna take longer for me to withdraw though. They are deep in the vault, if you know what I mean.”

Domino sighed. “Can’t you just pay me in blood money like a normal, civilized criminal?”

“Oh, you want blood money? Why didn’t you say so?”

Wade reached into the black holster fastened on his thigh and pulled out a fat roll of bills covered in dried blood. Peter assumed it’s Wade’s own blood because there’s a slash in his red suit right next to the holster. “What happened?” Peter asked while Domino worked to unstick each bill. 

“Nothing,” Wade waved dismissively. “Sometimes shit happens, yada yada yada, next thing you know, you are falling hard.”

“You got a knife wound from falling?”

“Strange, isn’t it?” Wade sighed. “All the best rom-coms feature the strangest things. _Pretty Woman. 13 going 30. Saw 7_. Dom-Dom, can you go let Weasel and his incompetent ass know we might got a clue?”

When it’s just the two of them, Wade put his arms around Peter’s waist and drew him close. “Sorry I can’t visit you at your tower tonight, princess. I need to get to the bottom of this while the lead is hot.”

Peter sulked. He didn’t particularly like the sound of that. “Stickers, Wade? When I said mark them, it’s more in the sense of trackers. That way, you don’t have to track the lead, because you can track the trackers.” 

“But they fill me with a strong sense of accomplishment that I’ve never experienced outside of kindergarten, which is really the peak of my time, career-wise.”

“You’re impossible,” Peter said to Wade’s cheeky grin. “Can I come with? I want to help.”

“Oh, no, no. Sissy Maggie’s is for folks that are up to no good. They would eat you alive if you so much as step your pinky toe in there.”

Peter huffed. “I can handle myself!”

“I know, I know, but surely you don’t want people to see Spider-Man walk into a drug den, right? It’d be a nightmare for publicity, worse than if Sia actually autotuned all her songs. Aww, baby boy, please, no, not that face,” Wade wailed when Peter pouted again. “What do you want? Please, for the love of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, tell me what you want, I’ll do anything-“

Peter reached up and tugged off his mask. “I want a kiss,” he said, with his mask-free lips. He looked at Wade and stood still. 

Wade had stopped moving. It seemed like he’s stopped breathing altogether, turned to stone as if Peter was Medusa incarnated. Peter pat down his no doubt messy hair self-consciously and jostled Wade back to life. He tore his own mask off, almost ripping it in his haste, and buried his nose in Peter’s hair and nuzzled eagerly. Peter could feel him trembling all over. 

It felt like they stayed that way for a year and a half, but in reality, it must have been just minutes before Wade pulled back and caressed Peter’s cheek so lightly that he barely registered the touch. His thumb swept under Peter’s eye, tilting his face up. Peter’s having a fever. The sockets of his eyes were molten hot. 

When they kissed, the world melted away, leaving only the smell of gunpowder unfurling in his head, dying all his brain cells the color of Wade’s eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

 

It’s not very often Peter saw his aunt at home. She’s a busy lady with a busy job, even more so ever since fate decided she had to raise a kid by herself. It’d be lucky enough for Peter to see her three nights a week, but that didn’t affect their close relationship. They’d always been more like siblings who told each other everything than parent and child, until Peter decided to ‘fight some guy from Brooklyn and his big friend’. That day when May walked in on him while he’s still in his suit, she spent 20 minutes breathing in a paper bag to calm down. “It’s like finding out your kid has been a firefighter in secret when the neighborhood is on fire,” she had said. “What are you going to do? Tell him to stop? The whole neighborhood is burning the fuck down, and there’re aliens dropping from the fucking sky.”

Peter thought that meant she’s accepted the fact that her nephew had adopted vigilantism, although he did notice she’s started to swear quite a lot.

Still, his palms were sweating like crazy when he fell next to her on the sofa. “Hey, can we...talk?” he asked lamely. 

“Oh Lord, is it time for the birds and the bees talk?” May sat up in alarm. “I knew this day would come. I’ve been practicing it over and over in my head.”

“No! No. Well, maybe? But I’ll stick to no for now. Get it? Because I stick to things? Because I’m Spider-Man? Ha, ha, ha.”

May stared at him in wide-eyed dread. “That bad, huh?”

“I-think-I-like-someone,” Peter said in a monotone like he’s the first generation of Siri. May’s expression turned indulgent. 

“Aww, honey,” she cooed while Peter slumped down the sofa like a limp noodle. She placed a pillow on his stomach. “Here, hold this, it’ll help. Now tell me everything.”

Peter opened his mouth, and the dam broke. 

“What if I like someone, but I don’t think I should, and they don’t seem to like me back, but we have fun together, not me-and-Ned kind of fun but exciting and new kinds of fun, and I can be myself when I’m with them and not be a total mess like that time when I was having a crush on Liz, and they are nice and funny but so out of my league, there’s no way he’d ever like me back, and when people say ‘like’, how does that work? Are there certain stuff you need to do before you are officially dating? Should I still try to date him even though he doesn’t want to? Have I mentioned it’s a guy? And I like him? Does that mean I’m bisexual? Also, is it normal that I want to call him and text him and be with him every second of every day even though we really just met not that long ago?”

“A lot to unpack here,” May said in a stunned voice when Peter stopped the flow by trying to suffocate himself with the pillow. “Sure you don’t just want the birds and the bees talk?” 

“Ned already gave me the birds and the bees talk.”

“Oh, well, he’s always been a good kid,” May mumbled. “Tell me why you think this guy doesn’t like you.”

“He constantly tells me that. He always says I can’t fall in love with him. It’s pretty obvious he’s just playing around. He even told me we are just pals who-” Peter coughed. “-mess around.”

“Have you told him how you feel?”

“Should I do that?”

“Communication makes all the difference.”

Peter drooped further down. “That’s scary.”

“Here’s the thing: it’s scary for everybody. It’s scary for me, and it’s probably scary for that guy, too. That’s why people avoid talking to each other, because there’s a chance that it’s going to change for the worse, even though there’s also a chance it’s going to change for the better. I think he doesn’t not-like you, it sounds more like he’s not ready to settle down yet. Is he seeing anybody else?”

Peter was caught off guard. “I... I don’t know. We never talked about it.”

“It’s a good indicator of how much he values your arrangement. If he’s only romantically involved with you, I would say go talk to him, and see if it’s going to change for the better. If not, well, I can stock up on ice cream.”

Peter gave her a big hug. “Thanks, May, you’re the best.”

“No problem, kiddo. Do you want to tell me about this guy?”

“Where do I even start? He has the perfect eyes-“

 

 

 

“Is it steak or carnitas?”

“Of course it’s steak, why would I get anything else if there’s steak- Hey!” Wade beamed as Peter sat down beside him on the low wall, their thighs and shoulders touching. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? Have you eaten yet? I have two more.”

Wade pushed a huge paper bowl, identical to the one sitting on his lap, into Peter’s hands. He pulled the aluminum top off for him to reveal a burrito smothered in sauce, cheese, lettuce and salsa. “Isn’t this romantic? Food under the moonlight, at the place where we first met. You almost died, I promised molestation. What a grand night that was.”

“I brought you something, too.” 

Peter presented Wade with a Burger King paper bag.

“Aww, darling, you shouldn’t have! What did you get me? I hope it’s cakes, I love their cheesecakes, with the Oreo crumbs on top-”

Wade reached inside and pulled out a taco. A Burger King taco. His sauce-smeared mouth turned into a perfect ‘O’. “No,” he whispered unsteadily. “Et tu, Spidey? I knew you were too perfect. I always thought I’d find your flaws in you have smelly feet, or you have weirdly-shaped ankle bones, or you have two pinky toes on one foot. I never thought it would be this.”

“Why are all your imagined flaws of me related to feet?”

“This is a serious matter!” Wade punched the air with the taco. “Stop distracting me with feet talk! My life is in ruins! I’ll never be happy again!”

Peter laughed so hard he had to put the burrito bowl down, or the whole thing was going to fall to the ground, and then he had to grab on to Wade for balance or he’s going to fall to the ground, he was shaking so hard. “You big baby,” he heaved when the laughter died down. “Chill out, I’m just messing with you. Give it here.”

Wade dropped his shoulder in relief and put the taco in Peter’s outstretched hand. “You’re not going to make me eat it? So it’s just a cruel, cruel joke, right? Wait, why are you opening the wrapper? What are you doing?”

“I’m going to eat it?”

Wade panicked again. “What!? Why? I thought it’s just a joke!”

“It is, but I’m not going to toss perfectly good food.”

When Peter raised the unwrapped taco to his face, Wade grabbed it and shoved the whole thing in his mouth. He chewed twice and swallowed. Then he stuck his tongue out and pulled out a short blade from his thigh holster.

“No, no, no, no, no!” Peter yelled. He grabbed Wade’s unfinished bowl and scooped up a big cheesy bite with the spork. “Here, wash the flavor down.” 

Wade put the blade away after Peter fed him three bites. “I can’t let it pollute you,” he said gravely.

Peter laughed. “My hero,” he crooned, and put the bowl back in Wade’s lap to pick up his own. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me absolutely anything, muchacho.”

Peter took a deep breath. “What do you do when you want to do something so much, but you overthink it to the point that now doing it seems scary?”

Wade turned his head sideway in thoughts. “Well,” he started after he swallowed the huge bite of Mexicana goodness in his mouth. “I know I come off as an adorable and carefree ninja warrior who does things spontaneously, but I do have experiences in this whole thinking business. I’m a professional, and I think things through so I have 100% success rate to charge 100% over average price. Then I turned into a sausage without the casing, and my whole perspective changed. If I can’t die, I can basically do whatever the hell I want. Killing, stealing, wearing crocs in public, what have ya. But soon I realized that doesn’t mean my actions don’t have consequences anymore. When I do things that are not right, they affect the people I care about negatively, and when they do, I feel bad. So, I developed my own philosophy, which is I do two things only: fun things, and the right things.” 

“What constitute as the right things?”

“It’s things that don’t make me feel bad when I do them. For example, do I want to blow the Big Apple up into concrete applesauce to get to the bastard that’s stealing my shit? Totally. Will it be fun? Absolutely. But I have a lot of friends here, and blowing the city up would probably hurt their feelings, which will then hurt mine, so I refrain from doing that.”

Wade shoveled another sporkfull of food in his mouth and continued while chewing. 

“Which brings us back to your question. If I want to do something really bad, and I think they are the right things to do-in other words, not make me feel bad-I would totally do the crap outta those things that the things will be sore for days, even if they are scary things.” Wade waved the spork in emphasis. “You gotta do it quick like ripping off the small intestine that’s hanging on by a single thread of tissue.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” Peter said. He’s been pushing his food around with his spork. “It’s just, I worry about things. I don’t want to cause trouble for my aunt, or for the person who gave me this suit. I want to make them proud. I don’t want them to regret their decisions, you know? And I don’t want you to regret us. Sometimes that means I don’t do things I want to do, because I’m not sure if they are right or wrong, and then people might-they might-” 

“Hey, woah,” Wade fumbled. He put their food away to prevent spillage and hold Peter’s hand in his. “Is this about us humping? Do you not want to hump anymore? Because we can stop if you want to stop, I told you that. I would like if we still hang out together though.”

Peter sniffed. “I like hanging out with you, too.”

“So it’s about the humping?”

“No, I… I like the humping, too. I like you, Wade.”

“Oh, good,” Wade relaxed. “I like you too, baby boy, and I’ll like you with or without the humping, yeah? So don’t stress yourself over me regretting anything, because there’s no iota of me that’s regretting this; all the iotas in me are loving this. But more importantly, I think you shouldn’t care what people think. Just do whatever you think is right, because, for God’s sake, you’re Spider-Man. You could do whatever the hell you want with your superpower, yet you choose to protect random strangers in New York, and that, to me, is proof that you’ll always choose to do the right thing.”

And at that moment, Peter thought he’s ready. He thought he’s ready to take the leap and throw caution to the wind and do whatever the hell he wanted. “Wade,” he squeezed Wade’s hand. 

“Oh,” Wade said. He stopped all of a sudden, and his mouth went slack. He didn’t say anything for a long while, just stared at Peter with his mouth half opened. He said, “Did you just-” but then shut himself up and firmly closed his mouth.

“Wade?” Peter squeezed the hand in his again. 

“Gimme a kiss?” Wade asked. Peter obediently leaned in, but Wade pulled back in shock.

“You’re going to do it? Just like that? I had Burger King taco in my mouth minutes ago! I taste like stale cafeteria meatballs that’s been regurgitated! Twice!”

Peter chuckled. “I’m sure I would kiss you no matter what weird stuff you put in your mouth.”

Wade cleared his throat. Then he cleared it some more. Then he said, “Well,” and it sounded wobbly, so he cleared his throat the third time, and said, “Well, just so we’re clear, you’re opening up a Pandora’s box of concoctions by saying that. It literally sounds like a challenge. What if I just ate pickles and Cheetos?”

“You wouldn’t,” Peter laughed.

“Soy sauce and oranges.”

“Stop it.”

“Licorice with tuna juice from the can, so you get a hint of ocean breeze with the taste of soap.”

“Wade, oh my God.”

 

 

 

“Do I taste bad? I feel like I taste bad. I should at least rinse my mouth.”

“You taste fine, I swear. Come on, come on, come on.”

Peter pulled Wade’s and his masks off and threw them to the corner of his room. They fell on his bed, limbs flying everywhere. Wade kept trying to kiss his face while he struggled to twist out of his suit, resulting in them accomplishing neither. Eventually Wade gave up and made kissing noises at him to convey the message and pulled his gloves off to touch the skin Peter revealed. “Your aunt, she’s not home?”

“Like that’s going to stop you from doing anything.”

Wade gave Peter a feral smile. “No,” he drawled. “But it’s going to determine if I want to gag you or not, because you’re not going to have control over how loud I’m gonna make you, ain’t that right, little bunny? Or would you like me to invite her to this show you’re putting on, where you shake and cry and beg me to touch you? Maybe I really should gag you. Maybe I shouldn’t let you come tonight. I wouldn’t want to be swayed by your pretty voice.”

Peter swallowed. “She’s not home.”

“Good. Take off your suit.”

Peter took off his suit. He’s naked on the bed he’d had his whole life, with an allegedly dangerous man staring at him with ravenous eyes. He’d never felt more alive.

“Wade.”

“Shush, baby boy, I’m not done looking.”

Peter didn’t know what Wade was thinking behind the beautiful eyes that were roaming all over his body, but he did know what he himself was thinking. 

He’s thinking-

Too-

Much. 

He slid his right feet against Wade’s thigh and placed it just a pinch away from the seam at the crotch of his suit pants. 

“No interesting deformation,” Peter said when Wade held the back of his ankle like a delicate champagne flute. 

“Just perfect,” Wade whispered. He bent down and pressed his lips against the curve. The kisses sent sharp heat up Peter’s brain like a tattoo needle piercing through thin skin, then he started biting and sucking, and the mixture of pain and pleasure intensified the heat tenfold. Peter stayed still for an embarrassingly short time before he had to drop his feet on Wade’s shoulder for support. Wade gave him a last sucking kiss, grabbed both his feet, and tugged. He sledded down the bed, going down easy. Wade loomed over him, watching him like a lion would its prey. 

“I seem to remember someone told me they didn’t have the best time exploring their own body, which made me very, very, very sad, because you deserve every good thing in the world. I blame myself. I haven’t been the best teacher, have I?”

“You were amazing,” Peter blushed. “I just need you to do it again, then I’ll get it.”

“I think you absolutely will, sweetie, if you show me what you did while I observe,” Wade said seriously. “That way we can figure the problem out together.”

Wade pulled out a packet of lube from one of the many pockets on his suit. “Go slow,” he instructed as he squeeze the content on to Peter’s fingers. “And open wide so I can see everything.”

Under Wade’s heated gaze, Peter slowly pulled his knees up and pressed trembling fingers to his hole. In a desperate attempt to ease the stifling anxiety, he reached up and gnawed on the fingers of his other hand. “Aww, baby, baby,” Wade pressed close to Peter and pecked at his lips, gently taking the bitten fingers away, holding them in his big hand. “You are doing so great. Use the pad of your fingers first. Nice and easy.”

“I thought you want to watch,” Peter said, following Wade’s words and pressing on his rim. 

“I do, but I can’t resist kissing you. I can’t resist tasting you,” Wade said between wet kisses. “I can’t wait for you to stretch yourself open so I can taste you inside. Will you do that for me?”

Peter groaned and shut Wade up with his tongue. 

In the mush that was the back of his brain, Peter realized they never really kissed this deeply. They pecked at each other like two friendly birds, but now they were kissing like they needed the air in each other’s mouth to survive. Wade was tasting him like he said, his tongue moving slow and firm, caressing the tip of Peter’s in the end of every curl like it’s a piece of Werther’s caramel, and he’s trying to get to the center of it through the dent in the middle. Peter’s getting out of breath, but he never wanted to stop. 

He was startled to when his finger slid into his body. 

His jaw dropped open, and noises came out of his mouth. It’s deeper than it’s been when he did it by himself, and he’s too scared to move. 

“Wade,” he choked, and Wade covered the back of his hand with his. 

“Nice and slow,” he repeated calmly. “Relax. Can you go deeper?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said. “I don’t know how. You have to make me do it.”

Peter watched as Wade bit his lips so hard that blood dripped down. He didn’t know what’s wrong; after all, he’s the one who’s got a finger up his ass. He stretched out his tongue and licked away the blood for him, and Wade automatically caught it with his lips. Peter closed his eyes.

Wade pressed down on his hand, gently forcing Peter’s finger to go deeper, until it went all the way in. He pulled back and allowed Peter to let out a single surprised “Ah,” before licking into his mouth again. His thumb wrapped around the pulse point on Peter’s wrist, tugging on it to pull his finger away from his body, then pushing it back in. Peter’s ass was rhythmically tightening around his finger; he couldn’t control it. Wade gave him a few more push and pull before rotating his wrist slightly to the right, making Peter break the kiss. “Wade!” he squeaked.

Wade licked his lips. “Good spot?”

“Y-yeah.” 

“More?”

“More.”

Wade pressed down on his hand at the same angle, and Peter melted. His right leg spasmed, until he found new footing on Wade’s thigh. He arched his back uncontrollably, face up to take in more air through his mouth. He’s panting like a dog. He could feel Wade stretch up to watch him, but he’s beyond the point of caring. Wade kept his finger at the angle. “Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty,” he heard Wade murmured before kisses rained down on his cheek.

Who would have known there’s a magic spot deep inside your body and touching it was the best feeling in the world? It’s like scratching an itch but so much more satisfying. It’s like pressing down on a bruise and listening to your heart accelerates. If one’s heart could sweat, Peter would be sweating inside and out.

“I think you can take more,” Wade said. “Isn’t that right, pretty boy? I know you want more. I’ll take care of you.”

Peter felt a familiar finger pressed against his. It’s longer and thicker, and his body parted eagerly for it. When it pressed down on that spot alongside his finger, Peter lost all control of his vocal cords. 

“Can I have a little taste,” Wade begged with uneven breathes. “Please, baby, I want to taste you when you come.”

He moved down his body before Peter could respond. He’s tugged open, and a tongue pushed inside him without preamble. Everything was wet. Wade’s nose was bumping into his scrotum. Peter screamed when he came.

Wade pulled his finger away, taking Peter’s with him and cleaning it up with his tongue. “You did so well, baby boy,” Wade praised as he moved up to cover Peter with his giant torso. Peter heard him tugged down the zipper of his pants. “My pretty, pretty boy. Daddy’s gonna fuck you now. It’ll feel even better, I promise.”

Peter’s brain only registered what Wade had said when he saw him swipe the come off his belly to lube his cock. 

“Ned said you need a condom!” he blurted when Wade leaned in, and the man froze.

“What,” Wade said. 

“I mean-we should use protection-”

“No,” Wade interrupted, tone eerily flat. “Who’s Ned?”

“Oh, he’s-he’s my best friend.”

“And what kind of best friend is this ‘Ned’?” Wade asked. “Is he a Simba and Nala kind of best friend, where you’ve known each other since you’re babies, and someday in the future you are going to fall in love, rule a country side by side, and raise beautiful cubs together?”

“He comes over because he thinks my aunt is hot,” Peter said. “His celebrity crush is Marzia from the Pewdiepie videos. One time his granny tried to make me eat sautéed pork liver, and he laughed the whole time. I would say we are normal best friends.”

Wade stared at him before groaning and hiding his face under Peter’s chin. Peter put his arms around his shoulders and pet his head.

“I feel like a total dickwad. I was never like this. I’m just, whenever there’s a slight possibility that you might be doing this with someone else, a hell fire burns inside my chest and I want to puke acid on everything.”

“Oh. So, bad?”

“Yeah, bad,” Wade sighed.

Peter swallowed. “What about you? Are you...doing this with someone else?”

Wade pushed up to look Peter in the eyes. “No,” he said tentatively, as if he’s surprised as well. “Are you?”

“Wade, you’re my first- everything. There’s no one else.”

“Really? That’s so hot.”

Peter squirmed underneath him. “Do you still want to…”

They both looked down at Wade’s erection. Wade sighed again. “The body is willing, but the mind is exhausted.”

“Oh. Maybe next time, then.”

The corner of Wade’s lips tugged up. “Yeah, baby, maybe next time.”

“Do you want to just lie for a while?”

“Yeah. That’s a good idea.”

Wade put his head back down on Peter’s chest. Peter felt crushed in an addicting way. “By the way, I can’t carry any diseases, and you can’t give me anything, but still, you should listen to Ned. He sounds responsible.” 

“Okay,” Peter said with his eyes closed. He just wanted to rest them for a while. “I like you.”

“I like you, too. I’m a boner with feelings, it’s disgusting.”

“Usually you’re just a boner?”

“Usually I’m a loner.”

“But we are pals, right? You won’t be alone anymore.”

There’s a beat of silence before Wade answered, “Yeah, Spidey.”

Peter was almost asleep when something vibrated against his knee. He felt Wade wiggle, and the vibration stopped. “Hello?” Wade whispered. “Peter?”

“Hmm?” Peter hummed.

“I’ll call you later,” Wade said, and then tried to climb off the bed. Peter made protesting sounds and tightened his hold. “It’s getting late, princess,” Wade whispered, planting a tender kiss on Peter’s forehead. “I would hate myself if you don’t get your eight hours. We’ll hang out again soon, okay? Gimme a kiss.”

Peter puckered his lips and kissed the air at the general direction of Wade’s voice.

“Will you miss me while I’m gone?”

Peter hummed. “Don’t go.”

Peter’s arms were tugged loose and tucked in. He never heard the clicks of his window opening nor closing, because he was already dreaming about gentle hands and gentler lips, on a medium-tall building under New York’s night sky.


	5. Chapter 5

 

Peter hadn’t seen Wade in over two weeks. 

He felt good about their last time together, so he wasn’t particularly worried. He just missed his face. And his voice. And holding his hands. Being on top of buildings now brought up fond memories, and considering he spent a lot of time on top of buildings, he spent a lot of time missing Wade. 

Or he just missed him no matter where he was. 

“So we help with armed robberies now,” Sam groused as he landed next to Peter. “I thought that’s the cops’ job.”

“Not ordinary robberies, birdie,” Mr. Stark chimed in in the comms. “Known surviving member of the X-Force. Top trouble, even though we haven’t heard a lot about this guy. You know who their leader is.”

“Yeah, real bad news,” Sam agreed halfheartedly, tweaking his thermal goggles. “Okay, I got one single reading, looks like it’s just him alone. If he’s so dangerous, why is the kid here instead of you?”

Peter flinched. “Uh-“

“Don’t mess with him, he’s a nice kid,” Mr. Stark said. “‘Sides, I’m a busy guy, I can’t just show up for some robbery.”

“So it is just an ordinary robbery!”

“Sorry I webbed your wings together last time, sir,” Peter spoke when he mustered enough courage to. Sam turned to look at him. “I didn’t mean it. Well, I did mean it, but I didn’t mean it mean it, you know?”

“Sure, kid,” Sam grunted. “No hard feelings.” Then he said lowly, “Bucky and I have a voodoo doll of you.”

“What?” Peter said. 

“Are we here to work or to chat? Make yourself useful and get in there and see what’s going on.”

Peter gave him a suspicious look before complying, crawling into the bank by the wall. It was the same bank Wade walked in and turned the robbers he tied up into robbees by bagging all their firearms like a hardworking squirrel foraging for winter. Wade. Peter shook his head. 

Sam spoke in his ear. “Spider-Man, do you have visual? He’s right by the front counter.”

Peter crawled silently into the main area. There’s a man sitting on a giant wooden box, feet swaying back and forth. 

“I got him. Caucasian male, 40-ish, mustache, looks kinda normal.”

“What do you mean, normal?”

“He’s dressed in civilian clothing. No gear. Khaki jacket, plaid shirt, khaki pants.”

Sam snorted. “Sounds like Cap, actually. Is he armed?”

“Yes,” Peter confirmed when he noticed the machine gun lying on the box next to the man. “He’s surrounded by a lot of wooden cartons. I’ll get a closer look.”

“Copied.”

Peter lowered himself to mid-air on a single web behind the man to inspect the boxes. All of them were sealed except for a half closed one. He twisted around to peek inside and found it’s full of guns similar to the one the man had out in the open. Suddenly, something caught his eye. There’s a speck of color standing out from the smooth black of the gun. 

It’s a yellow smiley sticker. 

“Where did you get it?” Peter asked out loud, and the man fell off the box with a shriek. 

“Spider-Man?” Sam asked in alarm. “Why are you engaging?”

Peter ignored him. “Where did you get it? It’s not yours,” he asked again. 

“Yes! Hi! No, they are not mine,” the man said brightly as he stood up. “I’m only the delivery guy. These are DP’s. He’s supposed to come collect these 15 minutes ago, but he runs late all the time. God knows how long before he shows up. Susan won’t be pleased if I missed dinner.”

“Deadpool is coming to collect these guns? I thought he’s trying to find them?” Peter repeated. 

“Did you just say Deadpool is coming here?” Sam exclaimed. 

“Why does it sound like you know Deadpool personally?” Mr. Stark demanded. 

“Yeah, he’s been leaving them around everywhere,” the man shrugged. “I tidied them all up. Then he ordered loads of new ones and sent me to get them, but he was never at the base, so I haven’t managed to make the delivery.”

“What about the ones Domino got?” Peter asked and heard Mr. Stark sputtered in his ears. 

“Oh, yeah, she emailed me, asking for some guns, and I thought, why not? Love thy neighbor as thyself! I thought DP wouldn’t mind. Why? Did he say something?”

“No,” Peter breathed out of his nose. “I don’t think he’d mind, either.”

“He really shouldn’t leave these everywhere,” the man said, picking up the machine gun. “I joined the X-Force because I was going through mid-life crises, but when I was actually on the mission and holding one of these in my hand, I just wanted to get back to my wife, you know? Scared the diddly-doodly out of me.”

Peter smiled. “Yeah, I get it. Why don’t you go on home? I can take it from here.”

“No, no, I can’t trouble you like that. You could be here all night!”

”It’s no trouble,” Peter reassured. “Really. What’s your name again?”

The man eagerly set the gun down on the box. “My name is P-“

The gun discharged and shot Peter in the arm. He screamed. The man screamed. His arm screamed. In blood. As in his arm was spraying blood like a gusher spraying strawberry syrup when bitten into. Sam and Mr. Stark were yelling in his ears. It’s a huge mess. Everything was red. Red like Santa. 

_Remember Wade in the Santa outfit?_ His brain chirped. _That was hot._

”Oh my God, I’m in love,” Peter howled.

 

 

 

Tony was old. His joints creaked up a symphony whenever he crouched down to tie his shoes. Hangovers lasted for a minimum of 72 hours, and he’d developed an unhealthy attachment to his electric blanket that kept him warm at all times. He didn’t like to be old, but what could you do? C’est la vie. 

He started helping this kid out with his superhero career. Peter Parker. He’s a nice kid. Hot Aunt. He’s smart in all the same categories Tony was smart in, and maybe someday he could take on the Stark legacy. Admittedly, maybe that’s thinking too far ahead. Mostly he only wanted him to take one step at a time and be safe. That’s why he’s been sending him on low threat missions; so, imagine his shock when the kid managed to get shot at a one-man robbery scene, and a crazy mutant killer burst into his 75th floor window shortly after, asking to see him. 

"Hey Bobby!" Deadpool waved at him after he dusted the broken glass pieces off his body. 

"My name is Tony."

"I don't give a fuck what your name is, Bobby,” Deadpool’s voice turned cold, but he kept waving, sending very confusing mixed signals Tony’s way. “If you don't tell me, right now, where Spider-Man is, I'm going to puncture your head through the back of your mouth with a hook and hang you from the ceiling. Your genius brain juice will flood your mouth and drip down on those leather loafers. Your name will then be Human Showerhead, but you'd be disgusting and just cover people with brain, so nobody wants to be your friend anymore."

"Jesus fucking Christ, man.”

“Tell me. Where. Spider-Man. Is.”

Tony cocked his head. “First of all, rude of you to break my glass. Learn to use a door. Second of all-“

Deadpool pulled out a gun and fired. The bullet flew right by Tony’s neck, nicking off the end of his hair under his ear. 

“Imma cut you off right there, because I’m not in the mood for games,” Deadpool spoke behind the smoke that’s floating upwards from the barrel. “Tell me where he is before I blow your head off and go look myself.”

“He’s in surgery,” Tony said. His palms were sweating, and he’s doing everything to keep his voice even. “Shot by one of you guys. The bullet hit his forearm, broke the radius. I don’t know what you two’s deal is, but you’d be dead wrong if you think I’d let you near him when we’re not sure whether you’re friend or foe, and the only person I trust to tell me the answer to that is now unconscious.”

Deadpool stayed quiet for a while before speaking. “Is he- is he going to be okay?”

Tony frowned. “Of course, man. It’s a broken arm, it’s no big deal.”

“Take me to see him,” Deadpool said. His hold on the gun steady again. “I need to see him. You can ask him first. He would want to see me. Would he?” he suddenly murmured, but soon shook his head. “He would. You can ask him.”

“He’s in surgery right now. Even after, he would probably be out for another hour.”

“I’ll wait.” Deadpool replied.

 

 

 

Peter came to slowly to the drip-drip-drip of the IV. At first he thought it was the sink in the kitchen leaking again, but then he noticed he’s on a bed that’s better than any other bed he’d ever lied in. He stretched his toes. He’s still wearing his boots. He’s still wearing his full suit. He blinked open his eyes and saw Mr. Stark staring at him from above. 

“Ah! Ow, ow, ow.”

“Good, you’re awake,” Mr. Stark said as he dropped into the armchair next to the bed. “How are you feeling? Do you want water? Too bad, no water for you until you tell me how you got to know freaking Deadpool, who, by the by, shattered my supposedly bulletproof windows, threatened to kill me, and is now in my building waiting for you to wake up. What the fuck, Peter?”

Peter struggled to sit up. “Wade’s here?”

“Oh, so it’s Wade now. What did he promise you? Fun gadgets? Exciting hero life? Meeting big players in the field and fanboy however long you want?”

“You promised me those things!”

“For good purposes! You don’t know what that man out there’s purposes are!”

“He didn’t promised me anything!” Peter yelled. “He- we- we are just friends, Mr. Stark. I don’t help with what he does. I don’t know what he does. We hang out. That’s it.”

“Sure sounded like you know quite a lot of what he does back there.”

“Mr. Stark-“

“Listen,” Mr. Stark raised his hand. “I’m the one who had to call your aunt and tell her her precious nephew was shot-“

“It’s a misfire!”

“-and all I ask is for you to be safe. Now, can I trust him not to hurt you if I let him in?”

Peter looked Mr. Stark in the eyes and said, “Yes.”

“Friday will be watching,” Mr. Stark pointed a finger at him warningly. “Any funny business, she’ll tase the hell out of him.”

He’s only left alone for a few seconds before the door was swung open again, and the familiar red suit rushed in like a whirlwind. 

“Spidey.”

Wade didn’t give him a chance to make a single sound before crawling on the bed and holding on to Peter with all his might. Peter could hear Mr. Stark yelling at them to be careful, but Wade wasn’t hurting him, and he hadn’t seen him for so long, so Peter didn’t fight it. He let Wade crushed him to the bed.

“So. That kind of friends,” Peter heard Mr. Stark remarked when he saw no further harm to Peter’s arm was done. He turned and watched Mr. Stark pointed at the ceiling, mouthed _Friday_ and mimed tasing, before exiting the room. It’s finally just the two of them, like they always were, when Wade came through his window. 

“Let me up?” Peter asked quietly. Wade shook his head no. He smelled like gun powder and sweat. 

“Are you crying?”

“Shorty trapped me with his stupid robots and I got claustrophobic.”

“You know I’m fine.”

Wade pulled his head up from Peter’s chest. “No you aren’t! Your arm’s broken!” 

“Really?” Peter looked down. His suit was cut clean off at his shoulder, and his arm was wrapped up in plaster. “Sick. Will you sign my cast?”

“I’ve been through hell and back. I’ve watched people I cared about died in front of me. Never have I ever been more scared in my life than in the last one hour and 45 minutes of waiting for you to wake up.”

Peter didn’t know what to say to that, so he pulled both of their masks off, wiped Wade’s teary, snotty face with a corner of the sheet, and pulled him down so he could go back to crying on his chest. 

“I found your guns,” Peter offered. 

“I don’t care about them anymore,” Wade wept. “I’m scared.”

“Me, too,” Peter admitted as he stroked the back of Wade’s head. “Is this why we can’t fall in love?”

Wade nodded. 

“I think it’s too late for that now,” Peter said and closed his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

 

Let me tell you a story, kids. Like any other stories, it’s got adventure, happiness, tears, and eventually, love. There’s also a dog. I’m not talking about loving the dog when I said there’s love in the story. Actually, the dog dies. I’m just kidding, there’s no dog in my story. 

Where was I? Oh, right, love. You see, love is a tricky thing in the sense of it doesn’t exist. Everybody knows love is an urban legend, and marriages are for tax purposes. If you think you’re in love, try laying off chocolates for a few days, and the symptom should go away as quickly as people are to forget about their New Year’s resolutions. I was in love once, then found out I was just possessed. One exorcism and several arsons later, I was back to my normal self. The arsons were just to cheer me up. 

Thinking that’s what’s happening this time, I got an exorcist and a dozen barrels of gasoline, but it didn’t work. 

I got a different exorcist. Didn’t work. I went to a local church. Didn’t work, either. I went to Vatican. They all spoke Italian, so I wasn’t quite sure if they get what I meant. Fortunately they had holy water on tap, so I chugged it like it was 1999, and guess what? It didn’t fucking work. I was so upset that I didn’t even want any arson anymore, and that’s a big deal breaker for me. I couldn’t live on being a man that did not get joy from watching things burn to the ground. It’s just not who I am, you know?

I was forced to reconsider about love. I asked myself, is love fun? If love is pranking and having good food and kissing and sexing and missing people when you’re apart and missing them more when you’re just leaving, then the answer is yes. But is love the right thing to do? That’s more complicated. Obviously I shouldn’t love anyone if I want to keep them safe. With the number of enemies on my back, I’d be lucky if I got pieces of the people I love at the end of the day… Was I clear enough delivering that joke? Ne-cro-phi-lia Deadpool! Pow! No? No good?

So, to love or not to love? That was the most stupidest question I have asked myself in my entire life, because one look at my sweet baby angel-his name’s Peter-and my mind was made.

I said, ‘Peter, my hardest effort has failed. I’m in love with you. Now we must live the life of Bunny and Clyde. We are fugitives of the world, and starting today, we can only rely on each other.’ And he said, ‘Have I ever told you you look hot in that Santa outfit?’ And I said, ‘Let me check if I still have that,’ and I checked, and I did. That’s why I’m wearing the Santa suit. 

“It’s such a beautiful story,” Dopinder sighs dreamily. 

“Wait, he didn’t say it back?” Domino asks with one of her eyebrows raised. 

“You are in love with Peter? I thought he’s dead,” Weasel says distractedly while watching _The Bachelor_ at the same time. He blinks in slow realization. “Oh, so that’s the necrophilia part, got it. Good one.”

“Eww, no, I’m not in love with our Peter, although he does have admirable spirit and a hot bear body. And my baby told me he loves me like weeks ago, I can’t make him declare his love for me every time I man up enough to say something, even if I’d like that very much. Oh, I gotta go,” Wade says, checking the message on his phone. “Anyway, the moral of the story is, loiter on top of buildings and you might find love. Merry Christmas, everybody!”

“It’s February,” Domino calls, but Wade’s already gone. 

 

 

The doorbell rings, and Peter pulls out his phone and types, _come in through the window_. Minutes later, his window rattles and Wade climbs in like he’s done so countless times before. 

“Ho-ho-ho, I heard there’s a naughty, naughty boy in this house,” Wade leers. 

Peter smiles behind the duvet. Wade sits down next to him on the bed and gives him a peck on the forehead.

“Why are you all covered up? Are you cold? Want me to crank the heat up?”

“I have something for you,” Peter says. “But you can’t laugh. I’m self-conscious.”

“What if you’re covering a ‘I heart NY’ tattoo under there? That’d be pretty hilarious.”

“Well, it’s not that,” Peter says in bewilderment. “If I had a tattoo, wouldn’t you notice it by now?”

“I don’t always remember what you look like naked; the joy is too much for me to handle, and I got blank spots in my brain.”

Peter sneaks his feet out from under the duvet and slides it up against Wade’s thigh. It’s covered in black. Wade looks down and watches Peter’s feet, hugged by sheer black stockings, travels to his crotch. The toes press down. He moans with considerable volume. 

“Stop, stop, I’m gonna come,” Wade pleads. He holds Peter’s feet in hand to stop it from moving, but as soon as he touches the smooth nylon, he can’t help but grounds his cock against it. Peter hides his smile behind the duvet and wiggles his toes, turning Wade’s moan into high pitched whine. 

“Do they go all the way up?”

“All the way up,” Peter confirms. Wade growls and jumps on the bed. He rips the duvet off of Peter and marvels at all that creamy skin, which stops just above his navel and made way for the black that wrapped snugly around his hips, dick, balls, legs. Wade is literally drooling. He scratches his nails lightly on Peter’s abdomen and watches him shiver. 

“Aren’t you the prettiest thing in the world?” Wade says adoringly. “Go on and open those beautiful legs up so I can take a look.”

Peter squirms. “You have to make me. I’m still sore from yesterday.”

“Little devil,” Wade mutters disbelievingly. He slides his hands from Peter’s thighs to his knees, gently lifting them up and spreading them wide. Naked under the stockings, Peter’s dick is already more than half hard, tenting the garment in an obscene fashion. Peter is red as a fresh cherry tomato, gnawing on his fingers, eyes following Wade’s every move. Wade smooths a single finger down, down, slowly down to the base of Peter’s thigh, right next to the seam resting in the middle perfectly and obscuring nothing. 

“What do you want? My mouth? My hand?” Wade asks sweetly. “How about neither? Up, up.”

Wade laughs at the disgruntled noises Peter makes as he’s picked up and placed on Wade’s lap. “Santa needs a treat, too, baby boy. Now be a dear and move your cute little tushy.”

Peter pouts. “Can I at least get a kiss first?”

“One kiss,” Wade concedes. Peter eagerly moves forward and licks into Wade’s benevolent mouth, and he’s instantly happy as a clam again. They drink from one another until Peter can’t resist wrapping his arms around Wade’s neck and feels him wrap his around his waist in return. He wants to stay here forever, in the arms of the man he loves. Neither of them remembers their original plan, not until Wade starts stroking his flank and abruptly pulls away. 

“You think you can cheat your way out of working?” Wade says and slaps Peter’s ass in quick succession. Peter squeals, twisting, trying to get away but can’t. “Chop, chop, or I’ll turn your bum red.”

Peter wiggles his butt. Beneath it, he can feel Wade’s erection, equal parts hot and insistent. “Take it out,” Wade commands. He obeys with nervous fingers. 

Wade’s cock is veined, hot, hard like a rod. He’s uncut, the head monstrous when revealed, the opening on the top leaking pearly precome. The fingers Peter wrapped around it barely touch together. Wade takes his hand away and holds them behind his back, pushing his hips forward so there’s no more space between his stocking-clad dick and Wade’s bare one. “Do you know how hot you look?” Wade says between bites on Peter’s collarbone. “You look stunning, baby. You got me all riled up in a blink of an eye like no one else. I used to jerk off thinking about you, half a dozen times a day, seven days a week. Look at your legs. I can’t believe you’re wearing them, it’s so fucking hot. I can eat you up.”

Peter blushes. “It’s for you. I know you like stockings. You weren’t subtle, leaving all the Victoria’s Secret catalogs with them circled out lying around my room.”

“And it’s so nice of you to indulge me. You’re so good to me. Will you do this for me, too? No hands, can you do that? You know how I love your pretty little body against me. I love watching you. I love you.”

“Wade,” Peter moans. His hips are already moving on their own accord. 

“Come on, baby, get me off and I’ll give you another kiss.”

Peter cants his hips. He rocks up against Wade and shivers at the barrier the stockings add between their bodies. He yearns to tear it away so he can feel Wade’s heat directly from its source, but he knows he shouldn’t. He knows how much Wade enjoys this, and he wants to be good for him. He sways and watches Wade watches him with eyes full of lust. He’s dripping so much precome that it’s leaking out of the stockings and rubbed into Wade’s abs with every up and down of his hips. He looks down to see Wade’s barbarous cockhead appearing and disappearing from the stockings and whimpers. 

“What’s wrong, baby boy? Is this not enough for you?” Wade asks with the voice sweeter than molasses. “Look at you, dancing in my lap like a proper slut that you are. Do you know what I was thinking when I put this outfit on? Do you know what I was thinking when I first met you? I thought I could take you away, chain you up and keep you all to myself. Nobody would know. They would see the outfit and thought we were playing. Nobody ever suspects jolly old Santa Clause, and I could have you all to myself and play with you forever. Would you like that, Peter? Would you like to be mine forever?”

“Wade,” Peter moans. Wade lets go of his hands and grabs his ass, squeezing them roughly. He feels a pinch, a tear, and then there’re fingers, covered in lube, poking at his entrance. He puts his arms around Wade’s neck and hides his face. 

The fingers go in without much resistance, and Wade pulls them out after a few pumps. “You are still wet from yesterday,” he says, dazed. Peter turns and peeks from behind his arm. There’s white on Wade’s fingers. Wade pushes them back inside to hear Peter groan. “Move,” Wade says simply, and Peter does as he’s told. 

He sways. The fingers are unyielding inside him, touching the most sensitive spots of his being. His erection is almost tearing the stockings, but the feeling of Wade’s cock grinding against his is just too good for him to stop. “Are you coming? Are you gonna come on my fingers?” Wade asks, and Peter shakes his head. 

“No?”

“Put it in me.”

“What? Be specific.”

Peter rubs up against Wade’s cock pointedly. 

“Alright. Do you have a condom?”

“Wade!”

Wade grins like a shark. He pulls his fingers out and grabs his cock, pulls Peter’s cheeks apart and rubs it against Peter’s hole. Peter tries to sit down on it, forcing it in, but Wade holds him tight. He teases him with his cockhead mercilessly. No matter how much Peter huffs nor whines, Wade doesn’t let up, not until Peter’s on the verge of tears. 

“All I want to do is care for you with my life, but sometimes I can’t help wanting to make you cry. Why do you think that is?”

There’s no time for Peter to answer the question before Wade pushes up, inching his way inside Peter’s body and enjoying the sounds tumbling out of Peter’s mouth. Peter can feel bruises forming from how hard Wade’s grabbing his ass. He can feel Wade so deep inside him, in his belly, in the back of his throat. He is speared open. He can’t think. He can’t think and his body moves on its own. 

He moves. His knees are on the bed as support for him to rise up and sit down on Wade’s cock. “Yeah, take it, take what you want,” Wade mumbles next to his ear, and Peter does. He moves like a well-trained boy toy, an experienced harlot, chasing his pleasure like he’s being paid for it. The sound of his ass hitting the top of Wade’s thighs makes his blood boil. He can’t imagine what he looks like now-naked except for a pair of torn stockings, having the ride of his life. He comes with a scream. 

Wade holds him close, one arm around his waist, the other still on his ass. He pushes up into Peter’s overworked body, the whimpers only fuel his movements. “Don’t worry, Daddy’s gonna fill you right up,” Wade says. He doesn’t stop when he comes, fucking Peter through it, his come leaking out on his shaft and fucked back into Peter. 

Wade slows to a stop. Peter moves forward to claim the promised kiss, even though they are both panting for air. He’s laid gently to the bed and admired. “My pretty baby,” Wade says with the silliest grin. He surveys his handiwork between Peter’s spread legs-the stockings are covered in white both inside and out, torn in the back, and Peter’s throat and chest look like he’s mauled by a werewolf. He cuddles up close when Peter tugs on his arm. “I love you. Is there food? I’m starving.”

“May made you lasagna, it’s in the fridge. Happy Valentine’s Day, Wade.”

“Aw, thanks, babe. What do you want for your present?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really need anything.”

“Oh, come on. Think big. A dope ass Maserati. Rent Disneyland out for a day. Season eight of Game of Thrones reshoot, with a bow on top. You name it, you get it.”

“Can I save it until my birthday?” Peter sighs. “Although I wish I never had another birthday.”

“What? Why?”

“Then maybe I’ll never have a growth spurt and you’ll love me forever.”

Wade climbs up to look Peter in the eyes. “You know I’m not just attracted to the collagen in your face, right? I love you when you are teeny tiny, and I’m sure I’ll love you even if you are as tall as Shaq. Fuck, talking about you being huge makes me horny again. Promise me you’ll carry me everywhere bridal-style if you grow another two feet? I long to pillow my head upon your firm man-tits.”

Wade smiles when Peter’s tickled into laughter. He attacks Peter’s face with kisses until he begs for mercy. “Hey, will pizza cure your Peter Pan syndrome? You know I’m not leaving any of that lasagna for you. When does May’s shift end? We should visit her at work. We should bring her pizza.”

“No, she’s next door, dog-sitting for Mrs. Delmar.”

“Crap,” Wade mumbles. “Gotta go back and redo that part. It didn’t die, did it?”

“I’d be very disturbed if May is watching over a dead dog.”

“That’s when the fun begins! We can turn it into a zombie dog, or a Frankenstein’s dog. Imagine how awesome that would be.”

“I love you,” Peter says, and watches as Wade freezes, then smiles the sunniest smile, just like every other time Peter told him he loved him in the past. He pulls his Santa down for another kiss. It’s the best Christmas he’s ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s it. That’s all there is in my noggin about Spideypool. Hope I get to write more in the future. 
> 
> If you read, left a kudo, bookmarked, commented, know that you brightened my day and I appreciate you greatly. 
> 
> Happy Pride Month, everyone!


End file.
